Richard sat down beside the bed.
For a second, he almost reached for his phone out of habit.
Then he stopped.
Left it in his pocket.
And chose something else instead.
“Can you show me what you’re drawing today?”
Sophia hesitated.
Then slowly, she picked up a small sketchbook from her lap.
She turned it toward him.
This time, the drawing was different.
The same big house.
The same little girl.
But now… there was someone sitting next to her.
Not perfectly drawn.
Not detailed.
But there.
Richard’s throat tightened.
“Is that… me?” he asked.
Sophia nodded.
A small movement.
But it carried more weight than any business deal he had ever signed.
“I’d like to be there,” he said quietly.
“For real, I mean.”
Sophia studied his face.
Children always know.
They know when you’re pretending.
When you’re buying time.
When you’re already thinking about leaving.
But this time…
She didn’t look away.
“Okay,” she said.
Just one word.
But it opened something that had been closed for far too long.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The house began to change in ways no renovation ever could.
The silence softened.
Laughter—awkward at first—found its way into the hallways.
Meals became moments, not performances.
And Sophia…
She ate.
Not because she was forced to.
But because she wanted to stay.
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